


Though the Truth May Vary This Ship Will Carry On

by Cryptographic_Delurk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Study, Complete Clusterfuck of Background Relationships, F/M, Gen, Ongoing Exploitation, Past Sexual Abuse, Women’s Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk
Summary: She had always told them she was a liar.Or five times Isabela ran from the Qunari, and one time she just ran from her friends.
Relationships: Fenris/Isabela (Dragon Age)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Though the Truth May Vary This Ship Will Carry On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hezjena2023](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezjena2023/gifts).



> Hezjena2023 gave me this lovely prompt:
> 
> _Where does Isabela go when she says she can’t go into the Qunari compound? Do any of the team notice and ask her about it? What does she say? How does she excuse it? Does Hawke start to cotton on?_
> 
> [Insert joke about how DAII elves take over everything I write.]
> 
> The title is a mondegreen from Of Monsters And Men’s _Little Talks_. Which was highly inspirational for this fic despite having a completely different subject, lol.
> 
> Read & Relax.

There was no question she would get away. She was faster than them. Faster than any of them. Faster than her own thoughts, even. She’d given Hawke some half baked excuse, and bolted before she thought it through. And the edge of Isabela’s calfskin boots rubbed smoothly against her thighs as she ran, turned a corner, then another.

The docks were the natural place to go – the closest crowd of foreigners to get lost in this side of Kirkwall. The fact that a little bit of Isabela’s soul belonged here had nothing to do with it, she lied to herself. Walking the ramps at Kirkwall’s stinking docks was a pale imitation of being out on the open sea, but it was all Isabela needed to begin to feel that love, that wanderlust.

She missed having a ship. She missed it desperately. Maybe if she were a little stupider, she would have kept running straight onto an outbound ship and disappeared halfway down the horizon. Away from the Qunari and Kirkwall and all her other responsibilities.

Isabela wondered what it would take to infiltrate a ship and mutiny the crew. Or she could hire some men to help steal a ship off the docks. But these were flights of wild fancy. Breaking into piracy as a woman was… tricky. Most easily facilitated by association with a man. Last time Isabela had the deed to her departed husband’s ship and the sympathies of half the crew when she made her bid for Captaincy. She didn’t think she could swing another crew even half so loyal with almost no money and no desire to subordinate herself to another man. The last time she’d done that, well- Castillon was _still_ a problem.

And, yes, Castillon. Even if Isabela found herself with a ship and a crew, she doubted anyone would hire her so long as she remained on the bad side of the Felicisima Armada.

So Isabela satisfied herself with dreams. The Viscount’s ship was empty. She was an opulent vessel, _The Sapphire of Kirkwall,_ and she spent her time tragically glued to the shore. Isabela climbed the ropes from where it was strung up against the dock. She stood at the bow, leaning against the rail, and let the wind flow through her hair.

She stood there for a while, watching the bustle happening below her on the dock, pretending she was the one orchestrating the loading and cast-off of fleets, when she noticed the hustle of a rather short shadow slipping behind the trunk before the cabin.

Isabela snorted. “Nice try, Varric. You’ve a ways to go before you can sneak on my level.”

Varric stepped out from his hiding spot without a beat. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“So what are you doing here?” Isabela asked. She leaned more deeply against the rail at the front of the bow, taking a delicate step to cross her legs and jut her butt out. “Come to find me in the middle of something.”

“Oh, you know me, Rivaini.” Varric ignored the show. He always did. He came to stand next to her, and leaned back against the rails so he was facing the cabin, while Isabela faced the sea. “I’m always looking for a story.”

“Did you find one?” Isabela asked.

“Part of one, perhaps,” Varric chuckled. “Peg-leg Pirate Queen Gloribell steals the Viscount’s ship right off the docks!! There are some kinks to work out.”

Isabela hummed in agreement.

“There’s also the part where she’s surrounded by a burly group of Qunari loyalists, and trying to give them the slip, but not quite well enough. Care to enlighten me what happens next?”

Isabela laughed. “Varric, you’re good with coin, aren’t you? Here’s an idea. Why don’t you give your good friend Gloribell a loan, so she can buy a ship and hire a crew? I’d bet she could triple your money in the space of a few years.”

“Oh, is that how we’re playing it?” Varric chuckled. “‘Gloribell’ wants a loan. Not very subtle, are you?”

“Look who’s talking!” Isabela swatted playfully at his shoulder.

“Tell me, Rivaini,” Varric said. “Why would I want to help you leave the best city in Thedas?”

Isabela snorted. This city was a shithole. “You can’t keep us here forever, Varric,” she singsonged. “Well, except maybe our Big Girl,” she said fondly. “Now that she’s settling down and making herself cosy as Captain of the Guard.”

Varric just shook his head. Denial was a potent drug. “Let me put it this way for you, Rivaini – I know you. I know your type. Any investment I sink into you is an investment I’m not planning to see returned.”

She told herself this: it didn’t hurt – it couldn’t hurt – because he was exactly right. She would have screwed him over in a second, if he gave her the opportunity.

“What can I say, Varric?” she shrugged. Her eyes were chasing the seagulls. “You’ve got me completely figured out.”

==

“Isabela! ISABELAAA!!!” The sound of Merrill’s voice pealed and bounced and shattered between the alleyways off the docks. And though Isabela could easily slip away and underground and to the wind, her compassion regrettably got the better of her.

Merrill was running about carrying a staff and shouting and drawing far too much attention to herself. And Isabela was beginning to worry that Merrill would shout down half of Kirkwall before she gave up. And so she slowed in her steps and turned back a few corners and waited.

“Oh, Isabela!” Merrill was breathing heavy and let out a long sigh, as turned the corner and jogged the last few loping steps. “Good, I’ve caught you.”

“You’ve caught me,” Isabela allowed. She uncrossed her arms and patted down Merrill’s flyaway hair. “It was very dirty and disreputable of you, Kitten. You knew I couldn’t leave you shouting in distress like that.”

Merrill giggled. She unhooked the pack on her back and sat cross legged on the ground, right where she was on top of whatever litter and needles and filth were scattered through the alley. She began digging through her pack. “Well, I was just worried about you Isabela. Since you said you were having ‘female troubles’ and we’re at least a half hour walk from your room at the Hanged Man. I know how terribly difficult it is to be caught unprepared.”

Isabela bit her lip and looked down at Merrill scurrying through her pack.

“I have a few extra rags and some socks for padding – They’re clean! Don’t worry! – And some pants, in case you feel like having pants. And-” Merrill pulled a brightly coloured glass jar from her pack. “Some honey and elfroot, to help your tummy if it starts to hurt. It’s very good in tea.”

“Oh, Kitten,” Isabela sighed. “You’re so sweet. But I’m not really on my monthlies.”

Merrill blinked up at her widely. “You’re not?”

“No,” Isabela said. “That was just something I made up because I didn’t want to be there.”

“Oh!” Merrill startled. She hugged the jar of honey to her chest. “Well… This is awkward.”

It was. For a moment Isabela just stood there. But it seemed Merrill wasn’t about to ask anything more.

“Here, let’s get you up off the ground, Kitten,” Isabela said, bending down to replace the socks in Merrill’s pack and pull her up. “Why don’t we go get a snack and take a stroll through the shops in Lowtown?”

Merrill brightened immediately. “Yes, please!”

Isabela swiped a couple servings of nuts, roasted and candied and wrapped in paper, from a vendor along the way. And together they walked past the craft shops at the edge of the foundry district, admiring the pottery and metalwork in the windows.

“I was concerned for a bit about chasing after you and leaving Hawke to negotiate with the Qunari,” Merrill was saying. “But the Qunari really aren’t so bad as they say. They’re mostly just serious and quiet. And very easy on the eyes. I don’t think they’re that much worse than humans, really. So I think Hawke will be fine. And anyhow Fenris is there with her, and he knows Qunlat and is also very good at hovering over her shoulder looking menacing.” Merrill raised one hand in a claw-like motion and growled in a poor imitation of Fenris.

Isabela laughed. “Poor sod can’t give up the bodyguard act. Men are such silly, possessive things. You should be careful with them, Merrill. They’ll act all nice, and then lock you up so they can have you all to themselves.”

“And then fatten you up and bake you in a pie with four and twenty blackbirds?” Merrill asked. “I think that’s how the story goes.” Her nose wrinkled. “Oh, but I think Fenris can’t really help himself. I don’t think he really knows where he stands with Hawke, or with himself, so he can’t help but be a little insecure.”

Isabela sighed at all the folly. “If you say so, Kitten.”

Merrill seemed nervous suddenly. “Oh, did I say something wrong? Have I upset you?” Merrill gasped. “Oh, that’s not why you didn’t want to be there with Hawke, is it? Because Fenris and her, after she… with you…”

Isabela snorted. “You could never say anything wrong. No, I’m perfectly happy that Hawke and Fenris are finally getting their groove on.”

“Oh, well, that’s good then,” Merrill said, a small blush creeping over her cheeks.

A few lanes down, they passed a shop for glassware. The colourful bottles in the window contrasted against the shattered shards on the pavement.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I dropped my sword in the middle of a duel and won with nothing but a broken bottle?”

“Oh! Tell me!” Merrill said eagerly, and laced her arm in Isabela’s.

“This was out of some brothel in Bastion. I can’t remember what the fight was even about, I was so far in my cups. But some jumped-up Crow decided they wanted to pick a fight with me. And pretty soon my entire crew was surrounding us, in this big circle in the middle of the main floor. Can’t imagine how the madame must have felt about us.”

Merrill leaned her cheek against Isabela’s arm.

Isabela continued. “Anyhow, not two minutes into the dance, I fumbled and dropped my sword. Don’t even know where my dagger was. I think every one of my men was shouting at me from the sidelines, holding out a weapon for me to take. These duels were not above board, and every one of them was willing to spot me to help me win. I have no idea if I just hadn’t noticed them, or ignored them on purpose. But my enemy made to dash at me and I dropped to the ground and slid between his legs. Grabbed for the first thing on the floor and stabbed him in the back. I thought it was my sword, but was only a broken bottle,” she laughed. “I guess it’s not that exciting a story once you tell it,” she said wistfully. “But it seemed very improbable at the time.”

“No, it was really exciting,” Merrill insisted. “It was so exciting, and perfect. And- And- I wish I had your life,” she sighed. “The adventures, the duels, the passionate love affairs…”

Isabela looked down to where Merrill had latched onto her arm. The little red fingernails digging into thick fat and the muscle underneath.

“No. You don’t want my life,” Isabela said certainly.

“Why?” Merrill blinked.

“Because you have a good heart,” Isabela said, unpeeling Merrill’s fingers from her arm as gently as she could. “And you deserve better.”

==

Isabela kept running.

Merrill found someone else’s arm to cling onto.

This, unfortunately, put Fenris out of a job.

“You’re an even worse sneak than Varric,” Isabela told him, between heavy breaths of air. As soon as she dropped into the underground passage below the docks, she’d been mistaken for an easy target by the Coterie. Too bad for them, she thought, picking their pockets for coin.

Fenris ran a few pieces of heavy paper across his blade, to sop up the worst of the blood. “Should I have stayed hidden then, while you were mugged by thugs?”

Isabela clicked her tongue. “You can’t just drop cover the second it looks like there might be trouble.” She sighed dramatically. “You’re just not committed enough to the art of stealth. We’ll never make a proper ne’er-do-well out of you that way.”

This body had no coin on it at all. Isabela picked it up by the lapels and threw it aside.

“I did not realise that was my goal.” Fenris stepped up to her side.

“Then you learned something new today, didn’t you?” Isabela offered. “C’mon, let’s go check Bonny’s new wares.”

He fell into step behind her as she navigated them through the tunnels, but seemed undeterred from his purpose there.

“Why won’t you go near the Qunari Compound?”

“Oh, you know,” Isabela said vaguely. “Me… A bunch of shirtless strongmen… We’re like oil and water – not to be mixed.”

Fenris snorted. “That is not what I’ve been given cause to believe.”

“I already told you,” Isabela turned on him suddenly, so he nearly careened into her. She let her eyelids droop. “I like lanky.”

Fenris responded to this with a few embarrassed blinks. Isabela laughed and turned forward to keep their course through the tunnels.

“And it has nothing to do with this Qunari relic Varric says you’re searching for?” he tried again, after a moment.

“Completely unrelated,” Isabela assured.

Fenris huffed. “Varric said you were a tough nut to crack.”

“Well, I’d let you take a crack at me,” Isabela said.

When she turned on him this time, his eyes were a little too slow catching back up with her face. She giggled and took his hand and pulled him up to Bonny’s little corner of the underground.

“Buy me something,” she demanded, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“You expect me to buy you a gift?” Fenris frowned.

“Expect? No, never,” Isabela said, scandalised. “Graciously accept? That’s another matter.”

“And you’d like… a longbow?” Fenris pointed at the prize of Bonny’s collection, strung up against the wall.

“It’s nearly as tall as I am,” Isabela marvelled.

Fenris snorted, but waved down Bonny and spoke with him in a hushed tone. They stood to the side negotiating and, after a moment, Bonny opened his chest and money exchanged hands. Fenris returned and grabbed her hand to set a ring in her palm.

“A ring?” Isabela snorted. “That’s a little too serious for a first date in the sewers, isn’t it? Even if you weren’t with, you know, _me_?”

“The man said it once belonged to the Black Fox of Orlais. I am unsure if this is true. But the design is unique, and you can tell it’s been well enchanted… It’s utilitarian,” Fenris deadpanned. “You said you would accept it graciously.”

“Yes, but I’m a terrible liar,” Isabela said, stringing the ring through the red cloth at her elbow and knotting it secure. “That’s the problem with men,” she sighed. “They always think they can buy their way into your underclothes.”

“I doubt I’d need to buy anything for that.” Fenris rolled his eyes.

Isabela took his hand and pulled him into a narrower, more secluded corridor. “Shhh, don’t ruin the moment.” She tilted her head up and leaned in to kiss him.

Fenris’s spine went rigid. He took a hasty step backwards, right into the wall. “I, er-”

Isabela could take rejection as easily as anything. “Ooh~ Not over Hawke yet, are we sweet thing~?”

“That’s not it,” Fenris said snippily. He crossed one arm over his chest and picked idly at his elbow. He looked down at his feet, and scuffed his callouses against the filthy stone.

 _They really messed you up in Tevinter, didn’t they?_ Isabela thought. She pitied him, and somehow that made her feel good and lofty. Whatever had been done to her, at least she hadn’t been left so prickly and joyless and afraid of being touched.

“I- I apologise,” Fenris stammered. “You are a beautiful woman. And I do desire you. I am just not… I cannot right now.”

“It’s alright, sweet thing,” Isabela said. “I’ve seen it all. I understand.”

She intended to cut him off. But Fenris frowned at the ground and kept going. “I rushed things with Hawke. I am sure you’ve heard parts of it already.”

“You know Varric and his gossip mill,” Isabela chuckled. “I’m sure I can guess the details.”

“I would tell you myself, if you’d allow it.” Fenris waited for the slight incline of her head, before continuing. “I lost my temper after my confrontation with Hadriana. I went to Hawke’s place to apologise. Or that’s why I thought I went there. Perhaps I always intended to start something- Romantic? Physical? Once it was set into motion, it was easy to get lost in.” Fenris coughed. “I do not know if it was Hawke, or simply the ideas Hadriana planted in my head, but I have been having flashbacks, dreams, ever since. Of a sister, a mother, a family. Of a person I perhaps used to be.” He shook his head. “I do not know who I am. And I… I cannot be together with someone like this.” He shook his head yet again. “I should not have rushed things with Hawke.”

Isabela inhaled deeply and sighed. She wasn’t made for conversations like this. “Oh, Fenris… From the sound of it, Hawke was the one who rushed things with you.”

For a long moment, Fenris said nothing. They stood, leaning against opposite walls of the narrow corridor, and looked at the ground and said nothing. And, worse, whatever sense of superiority Isabela had felt a few minutes ago had vanished, leaving behind only a gaping emptiness. She might not be prickly and joyless and afraid of being touched like Fenris. But Fenris was the one finding it in himself to be honest and transparent with her, with no promise or even likelihood that she’d ever return the favour.

_They really messed you up, didn’t they, Naishe?_

“Perhaps it is for the best,” Fenris finally shrugged. “Hawke is with the witch now… Truth be told it is a splash of cold water. I thought she had higher standards, but evidently not.”

“Hush,” Isabela scolded. “Kitten is a treasure and she deserves the world.”

“She is arrogant,” Fenris disagreed. “She believes herself above the influence of evil. And it will be the undoing of not only her but everyone around her.”

“She’s sweet,” Isabela laughed. “ _You’re_ just a terrible judge of character.”

Fenris’s face was unreadable for a moment, and Isabela was starting to wonder if she’d upset him when he sighed and scuffed his feet against the ground. “That I am,” he agreed.

For some reason Isabela found something in his resigned tone unbearably funny. She bit her lip to hold back a snicker. She pressed her back hard against the wall of the corridor, and toed up the other side of it with her boots, so the pressure held her sitting off the ground.

Some beggar came to the entrance to the corridor she was blockading. And Isabela watched as they withered and hurried to take another path.

She turned back, to catch Fenris’s too scrutinising look, and couldn’t help but shake with more suppressed laughter.

The edge of his lip curled, revealing a sharp canine. And when he pressed back and began to walk up the wall in a mirror image of her, she realised he was laughing too.

They had a good few moments, as they held themselves up in the air and snickered at one another and scared passers-by, before a wailing trumpet burst through the underground and nearly sent Isabela toppling to the ground.

“Damn Hawke and that blowing horn of hers,” Isabela said, as she pressed forward to jump off the wall. “They make foghorns quieter. One day I’m going to snatch that thing right out from under her nose and throw it into the sea.”

“Will you?” Fenris challenged, as he gently lowered himself down to standing. “We should go meet her. It seems likely she has concluded her business with the Qunari.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Isabela snorted. “I’m sure she’ll drag me back over there at least twice more before the week is up.”

“And you’ll run off again,” Fenris stated. But he didn’t press more, and she followed him as he turned to lead them out of the underground.

==

Isabela had exaggerated. It was at least two weeks before Hawke’s increasingly frequent visits to the Arishok coincided with Isabela’s presence.

“As long as we’re passing through to the Gallows, I might as well make a quick stop round the Qunari Compound.” Hawke fixed Isabela with a narrow eyed stare. “Don’t suppose you’re coming inside this time, are you, Isabela?”

Isabela gave a weary sigh. “Oh, I’d love to, sweet thing. But I’m feeling very fainty and delicate at the moment. You know how it is.” She raised the back of her hand to her forehead, and mimed a swoon, before fanning herself with the palm of her hand. “I think I might need a little fresh sea breeze as a pick-me-up… Or a stiff one… Or a drink.”

“And here I think the Qunari might be able to help you with the second on your list.” Hawke bit her lips and wiggled her eyebrows. “That’s what I’m hoping for myself at any rate.”

They pulled to a stop at the bottom of the steps. Fenris and Merrill were lagging behind, engaged in a conversation that seemed largely composed of Merrill facetiously asking after his health.

Isabela sighed. “They can’t help me with that particular need I’m afraid. The Vitaar always makes my skin itch.”

“I swear,” Hawke huffed, “one of these days you’re going to tell me what your issue with the Qunari is.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that, sweet thing,” Isabela singsonged.

Hawke pouted. “The Arishok has been very accommodating.”

“No doubt he has.”

Hawke gave a weary sigh. “Fine,” she said, and grabbed a hold of Merrill’s arm and dragged her away from the conversation with Fenris. “But don’t come crying to me, green with envy, when Merrill and I are taking a ride on that giant oxman cock and _you_ missed out.”

Merrill’s ears fluttered, and she looked between the three of them with wide doe eyes, pursed lips, and cheeks quickly flushing red.

“Oh, do not weep for my loss!” Isabela heaved a sigh. And then she smiled and gave a fluttering little wave of her hand at Merrill. “Have fun, Kitten!” she called, as Hawke marched Merrill away.

“Oh! Thank you, Isabela! I will! I mean-!” Merrill descended into a manic fit of giggles. “Not that kind of fun, I don’t think!” Isabela saw her swat at Hawke’s arm in the distance.

This left Fenris standing at Isabela’s side, with his arms crossed and a curious tilt to his head. He turned to Isabela, when he noticed her stare.

“I’m surprised you didn’t head off with them,” Isabela said. “Aren’t you Hawke’s favourite Qunlat translator?”

“The Qunari speak trade well enough. And if Hawke is serious about pursuing something with the Arishok, she will have to learn the language herself.”

“You know damn well she isn’t serious,” Isabela laughed.

Fenris snorted. “Truthfully I am simply disinterested in translating Hawke’s inept attempts at flirting.”

“So inept, it worked on all three of us,” Isabela mused.

“We shall not speak of it,” Fenris said, with that amused curl of his lips.

Isabela laughed again, and watched his eyes turn far too fond. “Where do you want to kill an hour then, as Hawke and Merrill charm the socks off the Arishok?”

Fenris didn’t seem to have any ideas. Isabela had noticed this – that he seemed uncomfortable when asked for decision or direction. So she took him by the hand and led him out onto the docks where _The Sapphire of Kirkwall_ was stationed. She grabbed a few loaves of stale bread and rations out of a crate along the way, and they climbed up into the crows nest, sat with their legs dangling down between the rails. They threw crumbling pieces of bread down at the deck and watched the gulls swarm.

“One day I’ll have a ship as big and grand as this,” Isabela said. “Storms will think twice about going up against a vessel this size.”

Fenris tore the bread in his gauntlets, and gently let the crumbs drift down through the air. “And will you treat it as well as you are treating this one?” he asked. “The entire ship will be covered in bird faeces before Hawke can call us back.”

Indeed, below them the gulls were cawing and flapping their wings and chasing each other about the deck, trying to lay claim to the choicest bits of bread. And as they mucked about and took to flight, the deck was slowly but surely being coated in ugly white splotches.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Isabela said. She tossed down a few more bits of the loaf and watching as the birds squabbled. “The viscount sends someone up every Tuesday to scrub her from mast to hull, and clean all the carpets in the cabin to boot… It’s about all the excitement _The Sapphire_ ever gets.”

“Hmm. You have their schedule memorised?”

“Well, how else will I know when I can sneak onboard and commandeer her for my own purposes?” Isabela stroked the rails on the crow’s nest lovingly.

“Is that your plan?” Fenris smirked.

“Yes, it’s a very secret love affair,” Isabela said solemnly. “I’m planning to elope with _Sapphire_ when the seasons turn. She wanted a spring wedding, you see?”

“A ship like this would require a crew of at least forty men,” he pointed out.

“Ooh, a smart one, are you?” Isabela crooned. “Well, I better start recruiting now then… How about you?” she asked. “You could become a raider!”

“Ah, your goal to turn me into a ne’er-do-well expands,” Fenris accused.

“You let your past hold you back too much,” Isabela accused right back. “Your master isn’t here. You’re as good as a free man. You could go anywhere you like.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Fenris snorted, “should I wish to join you and your imaginary crew of thirty nine other men on the ship you pretend is yours.”

“Well, don’t expect me to reserve you a spot with that attitude,” Isabela scoffed. But she bit her lip and decided to be a little foolish, when she knocked her leg across under crow’s nest into his, and set them asway. “C’mon. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“I had to stow away on a ship to get back to the continent, after I ran from Danarius on Seheron. I was stuck in the hold for nearly a week until it docked in Asariel. I told myself I would never get aboard a ship again, after that.”

“And you’ve taken the ferry to the Gallows how many times now?” Isabela questioned. “I bet you’ve told yourself a lot of things that weren’t true.”

Fenris frowned. He crushed the rest of his bread loaf, and scattered it in one fell swoop. “I have,” he admitted.

“You can’t really be swearing off sailing because of one bad experience where you locked yourself in the hold.”

Fenris laughed. “I hate fish. The smell makes me sick. I imagine this would be a problem for any would-be sailor.”

“You know what I think?” Isabela started. “I think you never want to leave Kirkwall. I think you’re attached – no matter how happy or unhappy it makes you. And I also think you’re not over Hawke.” She told herself she wasn’t sure what made her say it, or what made her reach over and playfully tug the underside of the red cloth wrapped about his wrist.

She felt smug when she pulled away, but Fenris just lifted his hand up and looked at it oddly.

“This?” he asked. “I had thought about getting rid of it.”

“And why didn’t you?” Isabela felt eager to hear his excuse.

He reached across for her right forearm, and swivelled her closer, before lifting his wrist up to the cloth at her elbow.

“I liked that it matched yours,” he said simply. And held the two swathes of red cloth, not quite touching, before pulling away.

Isabela realised she had dropped the rest of her stale bread and rations in the commotion, and the seagulls were cawing and fussing loudly from the influx of food. She adjusted her posture, and smiled. “Ooh, intelligent and smooth,” she cooed. “Did you practice that one in the mirror?”

“Maybe a little,” Fenris admitted.

“Such a tease,” Isabela tisked. “You put a lot out, for someone who refuses to take anything in return.”

Fenris turned to meet her challenge. “Will you tell me why you won’t venture into the Qunari Compound now?”

Isabela looked at his face. His wry smile had left little wrinkles in his forehead. Prematurely aged. She knew, somehow, that he did not really expect her to answer.

But she wouldn’t let things de-escalate, not like she had with Hawke.

“I hate them,” she said. “I hate the Qunari so much I can barely stand to look at them.”

“Oh?” Fenris said, and Isabela was pretty sure he did not believe her. Not yet.

“Rivain has been the subject of numerous periods of military occupation by the Qun,” she explained.

“And by Orlais,” Fenris said. “It is said that the Exalted Marches killed more Rivaini natives than the Qun.”

“Yes, but that’s not why I hate them,” Isabela said. “The religion professed by the Qun is largely not at odds with those of indigenous Rivain. There were so many converts, they even managed to get a whole diet lite version of the Qun set up in Kont-arr. My Mother was a Qunari convert.” Isabela leaned forward against the rail, and picked at her nails. “She tried to have me converted. We had bitter arguments, screaming fights. I don’t think I need to tell you why I resisted.”

“You do not.” The levity in Fenris’s expression had gone. “This is-” He waved a hand idly and seemed to struggle with the words “-the source of your conflict with your mother.”

“Not the source, no,” Isabela laughed bitterly. “Things were headed that direction for a while. This was just the final straw… One day she called in someone from the Ben Hassrath to have me evaluated. I ran away until I was sure they had left.” Isabela shrugged. “After that she gave up on me entirely. She sold me to Luis a few days later.”

Fenris said nothing, but leaned against the rails on the crow’s nest as well and waited.

“I hate them,” she hissed. “I hate the Qunari, and everything they stand for.”

The catharsis weighed heavy, and then left. The seagulls flew, having cleared the deck. The words drifted off to sea.

“I understand,” Fenris said. “I mean- Of course I cannot understand the relationship that exists between mother and child… But I can understand why you would want to not be near the Qunari in light of it.”

Isabela looked up, and he met her eyes directly. And Isabela did not know what he saw, but she suspected that the sadness that radiated from him was no more feigned than that she felt herself.

“I apologise if I have forced you to relive painful memories,” Fenris offered. “I will refrain from pestering you about the Qunari in the future.”

“Oh, Fenris,” Isabela sighed. She looked down at her lap, ashamed. “It’s alright.”

It really was true that the best lies had a nugget of truth to them.

==

Isabela should have known that letting Hawke spend so much time trying to get into the Arishok’s drawers would come back to bite her in the arse. Hawke was developing sympathies in all the wrong places.

“That artefact belongs to the Qunari and you’ll let them leave with it.”

The woman could be absolutely pig headed, and Isabela felt near to pulling out her hair in frustration when Merrill interrupted.

“Oh, _ma vhenan_ ,” Merrill winced. “But- Do we really have to?”

Of the things that Isabela had expected to come out of this night, witnessing Hawke and Merrill’s baby’s first fight as a couple wasn’t one of them.

(“You can’t possibly be serious, Merrill. She stole the most sacred text in their entire culture. Isn’t your whole _thing_ restoring artefacts and culture that Humans have destroyed. What makes this different?”)

(“Well… It- It’s Isabela! …And also the Qunari aren’t Elves. I think we’d both notice if I had those horns.”)

She also hadn’t expected the foundry to quite literally explode out into the street with Tevinter mages hot on Wall-eyed Sam’s tail.

Unexpected, sure. But it kept things exciting, Isabela told herself. She could outrun old Sam on the worst of days, so all she waited for him to pull far enough away from the horde and then eased behind him. Stabbed him right in the back.

Easy peasy. After so much time, it was finally returned to her – the relic that would buy her safety from Castillon.

Hawke would be okay. She and Merrill were darling, and they would get through these important milestones together. And Hawke would look after the city. Hawke could kill every Qunari in Kirkwall single-handedly if she put her mind to it. And she wouldn’t even be single-handed. She had Merrill and Varric and Anders and all the rest of them. Nobody needed the relic. Nobody needed Isabela.

She cackled a little to herself as she tucked the tome under her arm and made a run for the docks. She was brilliant and clever and this close to being free, when she swivelled a sharp corner down the stairs and rammed right into a shield, plated in green aurum.

The shield caught her straight in the gut, and she went flying back up the steps. There was a moment Isabela just laid there, with stars in her eyes and the edge of the steps cutting into her arms and legs, listening as the armour shuffled and reached down for something on the ground – not her. Then, she pulled herself up to sitting, as a familiar face looked down at her and the tome clutched in a familiar gauntlet.

Aveline raised an astoundingly red eyebrow.

“So,” Isabela wheezed, “you caught me, did you, big girl?”

Aveline grunted. “Some of us aren’t stupid enough not to surround the area and keep a lookout while you’re running off with Hawke for a may-be-connected foreign relic.” Aveline flipped through the tome. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m no expert in Qunlat. But why do I get the feeling this book and your poxy tart ass are responsible for _my_ problems?”

“Well, I think your frigid constitution is responsible for at least half your problems.”

“ _Isabela_ ,” Aveline sighed, closing the book under her arm and rubbing her forehead.

“ _Please! I was almost- I can’t-_ ” Isabela didn’t know what she said next. You didn’t need to think when you had spent half your life rehearsing the act. She knew what she did though. She sat cowed and huddled on the step, with Aveline standing over her, and _begged_.

She wrung her hands. She scrunched her face. She begged like her mother had taught her when they left home to visit the cities, because tourists were more generous and were more easily pick-pocketed when they were distracted by young and pretty girls. She begged like Luis had taught her when he locked her inside the captain’s quarters, because he liked it and the more he liked it the quicker he’d be done. She begged like she had for Castillon, because she deserved another job and another chance and not to be stranded without the means to care for her _Siren’s Call_.

And, oddly enough, it seemed to be working. Aveline bit the inside of her cheek, and Isabela watched the freckles smooth on her skin as the tension left.

“You’re really afraid he’s going to kill you,” Aveline said.

“I-” Isabela gaped. She couldn’t say she wasn’t afraid, or Aveline’s sympathies would evaporate. But she couldn’t say she was, because it was too close to the truth and it would shatter the game. And she’d be earnestly, honestly, a woman sitting on a step begging for a handout because she didn’t want to die.

Thankfully Aveline wasn’t waiting for an answer. “I didn’t think- We’ve gotten into so many battles, and you’re usually not scared of anything. He must really have contacts everywhere…” Aveline seemed in awe. And then she reached for her belt and picked a vial of potion, and set it atop the tome as she kneeled down and handed it to Isabela.

Isabela looked to her questioningly. “Big girl?” She wasn’t used to having people on her side.

“Pardon me for saying so, and I’ll deny it if you ever relay it, but- Fuck the Qunari!” Aveline said vehemently. “They’ve gotten their way far too much as of late. There’s no reason for them to have you too.” She grabbed Isabela by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Take your relic,” she commanded. “But you’d better be back, when this is all over. I plan to punish you personally for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

Isabela let out a huff of laughter. “Aye aye, Captain,” she said, as she uncorked the vial of potion with her teeth.

Aveline let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like ‘Strumpet’. “Just go.” she said.

Isabela didn’t wait for Aveline to change her mind. She circled far around the Qunari Compound, sneaked past the dockmaster’s booth, and padded out onto the docks, past _The Sapphire_ to where Castillon’s contact was waiting with the sailing skiff. And in the meantime she wiped the crocodile tears from her eyes and laughed.

Oh, Aveline. Big girl. Ball-crushing, mannish do-gooder. She was so easy it was pathetic. As if there was any chance of Isabela coming back to face the music now that she had her relic and credit to take out a ship as part of the bargain.

 _Pathetic_. Aveline always called her a whore. But if only Aveline was half so sympathetic with the actual working girls she rounded up out of the alleys, maybe then she’d actually get somewhere. She certainly wasn’t going to get anywhere taking Isabela’s word for anything.

(Only how much difference was there, really? Because Castillon’s contact came to see Isabela every month, and Isabela gave him the money she’d earned running around with Hawke and pleaded for more time. Just a little more time to find the relic and set everything to right. How different was that from a whore begging her pimp?)

“I’ve got it. Let’s go.” She swung a leg over the gunwale, and her boot splashed against the damp bottom of the boat.

“About bloody time,” the man in the skiff barked. She knew him, Antonio. With the dark hair and impatient fury of a man who felt the world perpetually disrespected him. Perhaps it even did. Really, she didn’t know him at all.

The skiff was only large enough to have one set of rowlocks. So Isabela wrapped herself and the Tome up in a blanket, and sat at the stern of the ship with her head back and legs spread, like a Captain. And she laughed and taunted as Antonio groaned and strained against the oars and rowed them out to sea.

She said more things she didn’t really hear, and laughed so hard tears started to bead in the corner of her eyes. She needed to sleep now. She’d been up all day, arranging things as soon as she’d heard word of Wall-eyed Sam and the relic. And at some point she’d need to relieve Antonio, even if it was just to keep awake and watch they didn’t stray off course once they were out on the sea and the wind and the currents could take them the rest of the way to Ostwick.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Aveline, and what she’d said, and what she’d expect, and what a fool she’d been. And it occurred to Isabela that that was the last she’d ever see of Aveline – fierce and fiercely awkward and blazing red. It was the last she’d see of Merrill and Hawke being silly and fussy and not quite sure what to do with anyone so devoted to them. It was the last of the talks she’d share with Fenris. Anders would no longer bore her to tears ranting about mages this and mages that. And Varric would tell stories about how he’d been exactly right about her, because he was.

And when the sails were set and the sun up with the morning and Isabela first got the inkling that the blazing red on Kirkwall’s coast was not simply the reflection of morning light, she thought about that too.

It wasn’t her fault if the city went up in flames without the relic. It wasn’t her fault that the Qunari were a bunch of incendiary brutes, and that the Keep and the Chantry had done nothing for years but throw fuel on the fire. But that was not how they would tell the story. That was not how they’d remember her.

Nobody needed Isabela. But what was she giving up for this relic – for the maybe-promise of Castillon’s grace and Castillon’s ship?

She told some dirty joke and Antonio laughed and Isabela laughed, because Isabela did not cry and did not regret things.

_He would kill her. He would kill her. She’d never have any peace._

Isabela did not regret things. But she knew she’d regret this, and might even regret it forever, which just meant she had to do something else.

“Would you look at that? I could have sworn those reefs were made of candy!”

So she wasn’t as good of a bullshitter as Varric, but Antonio turned and it was all the distraction she needed. She pounced, elbowed him directly in the face, and drove the knife straight through his back. He slumped down, with his torso leaning over the side of the boat. And Isabela grabbed his legs and shoved him the rest of the way overboard.

It was only a skiff, she reasoned, as she pulled the sails down and set the oars in the rowlocks to turn the ship back. You didn’t need two to pilot it.

==

The Qunari collected the Arishok’s blade and left the body to rot, before marching out of the Keep. And Isabela hid behind Hawke’s back and waited for them to go, before slipping away herself. The last thing she needed was getting caught in the Qunari’s departure. But she didn’t want to hear what Hawke and Aveline would ask of her either, once they were done being distracted by the Knight Commander’s proclamations.

She hustled to the Viscount’s office, and didn’t even rifle through the desk drawers before crawling out the rear window. She followed a few ledges, before catching the edge of the roof and pulling herself up. There were several tiers in the roof of Viscount’s Keep, and Isabela climbed and climbed until she had reached the tallest one, dwarfed only by the spires of the adjacent Chantry. She turned away from these heights, and sat on the ledge that let her look out over the spread of the city.

Kirkwall was still on fire – an orange growing duller and duller against the coming dawn. Isabela was exhausted. This was the longest day she’d had in a long time, and by some measures it was just beginning.

She’d really burnt the last of her bridges with Castillon, hadn’t she? This wasn’t like what happened with Hayder, who’d always been a rogue element, looking for a way to take out his grudge against her. No, this was different. Isabela had had the relic, and she’d let it go. She didn’t have a way to make things up to Castillon now. Maybe she never had, and he’d just accepted her bribes and humiliation because she offered them. But there was no going back now, and no hope of ever getting a ship from him, and he really would be out to kill her, wouldn’t he?

And maybe that was okay. Simpler. Maybe Hawke and the others would even have her back, when his agents came looking. Maybe Castillon could die, just like anyone else, even with all his money and bodyguards and influence.

Maybe Isabela would never have a ship again. Maybe that was also okay. Maybe she wasn’t stranded in this city, but had chosen to be here. Maybe she had people she’d chosen to be here for.

Or maybe that was just the exhausted delirium.

She watched the harbour, and as if on cue the sails of _The Sapphire of Kirkwall_ were raised.

Isabela squinted, looking for the horns on its crewmen, as if she could see them from this distance. As if she needed to see them to know. She scoffed – killing a man and stealing his ship. The Qunari had no class and no style. But the Viscount certainly wouldn’t be needing her any more. And Isabela supposed the Qunari had to get themselves and the Tome and their converts to Par Vollen somehow.

So she sat and watched, in awe, as that grand vessel finally caught the wind and began to leave the harbour and move out into the sea where she always belonged.

Isabela hadn’t realised that Fenris was there, until he’d nearly made it up the last tier of the Keep’s roof. He grunted, as he dug his nails against the uneven clay. And searched for a foothold.

“Need a hand?” Isabela offered. She stood and walked to the edge he was scaling, and found herself surprisingly lacking in reticence. She bent down and grabbed him by the arm – he wasn’t wearing gauntlets for once – and then grabbed the back of his tunic to help haul him the rest of the way up.

Fenris heaved a sigh, as he pulled himself up onto the roof on his hands and knees. “It would have been better if they sent the witch to find you,” he said. “She is a better climber than me.”

“They sent you? Come to drag me back?” Isabela asked.

Fenris sighed again. “No.” He turned to sit, and scotched a bit towards the ledge that Isabela had originally used as her vista point.

“So what are you here for?” Isabela crossed her arms in a way she hoped looked challenging, instead of just defensive. “Come to yell at me?”

“…Perhaps some other time.” Fenris shrugged.

“You’re not angry with me?” she asked suspiciously.

“I am,” Fenris admitted. “But for the time being I wish to simply appreciate that both you and Hawke have somehow made it through the day alive. Besides-” His half-smile bared teeth. “You always told me you were a liar.”

Isabela had always intimated as much. She sat down next to him, on the edge of the roof, legs crossed.

They looked across at the destruction in the city. Tops of charred rooftops all across Lowtown. Isabela wondered if the Hanged Man was still standing.

“So, what’s going on down there?” she asked, pointing directly below at the Keep.

“Every nobleman in Kirkwall is keen to shake their Champion’s hand. Hawke wasn’t able to get away. The Knight Commander has rather effectively chained her to the inside of the Keep for the next eight hours, or so.” Fenris shrugged. “The mage became enraged that Hightown residents within the Keep seem more intent on celebrating Hawke’s expulsion of the Qunari than putting out the fires still raging in the lower parts of the city and calming the riots in the alienage. Aveline and the witch left with him to see to the matter and arrange healing for the wounded. I fail to recall another time I’ve seen the three of them in agreement.”

“And you disagreed with them?” Isabela snorted.

“I did not,” Fenris said. “But some of us are not sustained by demons, blood magic, and whatever it is that keeps Aveline going. I will soon require rest. They assigned me a suitable task with that consideration in mind. It was to find you.”

Isabela grabbed her ankles and rocked a little in place. “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Fenris agreed. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. “Aveline said you could report in for your punishment at earliest convenience.”

“Ooh, I’d almost forgotten about that,” Isabela said. “What kind of punishment do you think it will be?” She leered. “Do you think it will involve spanking?”

“I would not presume to know,” Fenris huffed, again with the half smile. But the humour died easily and pretty soon they were sitting once again in solemn silence.

Isabela lost track of the minutes. She was beginning to drift off, irregardless of the morning chill, when Fenris spoke again.

“They should have sent the witch. I have no idea how to climb back down off this roof.”

Isabela thought she could probably help with that, even if she wasn’t prepared to offer it so plainly. “You’re usually rather limber.”

“I have been awake and moving for too long. The brands are starting to-” Fenris shook his head. “They should have sent the witch,” he repeated. “She probably would have more to say too, and in a cheerier voice.”

“Coming around on Merrill, I see,” Isabela said smugly.

“I still think she’s a menace,” Fenris protested. “One that only knows how to destroy.”

“And I still think you’re a terrible judge of character.”

This prompted the same uncomfortable silence that it had the last time Isabela had said it. And when Fenris spoke this is what he said:

“Did you ever love your husband?”

“Love? That bastard?” Isabela huffed a disbelieving laugh. “No. I cried. I rebelled. I struggled. Sometimes I just laid next to him, docile and unmoving, trying to see how far out of my own body I could get.” She stretched her arms out in a poor mimicry of the catatonia. “But I never loved him.”

It was the truth. And it was a lie. She had never loved Luis. But it was different with her mother. It was different even with Velasco. She knew what Fenris meant to ask – Had she ever judged wrong? Had she loved people who hurt her and betrayed her? And she kept that answer to herself.

Fenris observed the lyrium in his palm. “I did,” he said quietly. “Or I thought I did.”

“You loved my husband?” Isabela asked. She giggled when Fenris’s face scrunched. “Well, that’s a twist. I hope you’re not here for revenge. Going to challenge me to a duel in his honour?”

“I thought you weren’t the one that had him killed?” Fenris said.

“I wasn’t. But I profiteered off his death well enough,” Isabela hummed in satisfaction.

“You’re intolerable. Everything a joke,” Fenris scoffed. And Isabela felt the effort in his voice, as he steered the conversation back. “Sometimes he would command me to say it, when we were alone. I did unthinkingly. It was not my place to question. But I came to believe it. One time, after a scuffle with a fellow magister, he was badly injured. I hovered over him like a mother bear, and it slipped out of my mouth while I was administering lyrium.”

The shame radiated from him like a think fog. Isabela did not think it helped him or anybody.

Fenris looked very small, as he finished his story. “He cuffed me over the ear later. Told me I didn’t need to be so dramatic.”

Isabela had said the exact same thing to nearly every love confession she’d gotten.

And, perhaps it was only the exhaustion, but Isabela was gripped with a sudden paranoia. She hoped this wasn’t where Fenris was going with this. If he intended to tell her he loved her, she’d have no choice but to repeat the same script back at him – the same words his master had told him.

_And it would serve Fenris right. He should have known better._

Only she knew she was lying now. She knew she couldn’t really do that to him. She could not repeat what the worst betrayers in his life had said to him. Maybe on another day, when she’d better steeled herself to cruelty. But not today. Not when they were both this raw and depleted. He could waylay her completely with only three small words.

“What?” Isabela scoffed, trying to affect a calm she did not feel. “Did you tell all this to Hawke before you got cosy with her?”

“I told Hawke different things,” Fenris said, too easily now that the past was past.

“It’s not just a little speech you hand out anytime it seems anyone might get close?” Isabela accused. “A list of things I need to accept about you now and forever, or not at all?”

“I…” Fenris looked baffled. “I have had little occasion to anticipate being close to anyone.”

Isabela couldn’t bear this any more. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you love me,” she rushed out.

Fenris seemed a little dumbstruck. Then he barked a laugh. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

Isabela did not feel nearly as relieved as she thought she would. “Well, you can hardly blame me when men are always getting ideas.” She scowled.

Fenris shrugged. “What is there to love?”

It hurt. But before Isabela got a chance to tell herself it didn’t, he clarified.

“I did not say that right. Rather– What have I been given a chance to love?” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and looked out over the city. “It is my impression that I am only just beginning to get to know you.”


End file.
